Bad Apple
by nobody28
Summary: An NCR field medic struggles with desertion, and her negative feelings toward her role in the Mojave. The Courier, and Boone will be in later chapters.
1. Bad Apple

**Bad Apple**

_Death is freedom, you take nothing with you._

I see dead people all day. That is my profession, to look at dead people. Dead people lay in the Infirmary without the Doc even realizing that they are, in fact, dead. Dead people litter the battlefield separating us from Nelson. Some alive, but most dead. The alive will soon be dead, though.

When it comes down to it, I am nothing more than a purveyor of dead people. It says on my papers that I am to keep them alive, but that's for people who do not know how to read between the lines.

I try my best to help them, honest to God, I really try. The Legion fucks them up so bad. Whether it be bullets or a machete. Legion bullets are worse than regular bullets. Legion machete wounds are always worse than normal stabbings. I've spent days in the trenches with blood caked on my clothes, and men pleading for me to put them out of their misery.

That is what they want. So, if I can get away with it, I do it. It's what they asked. No fault of mine. They die when I'm working on them in the field. They die drop by drop standing around at Forlorn Hope. It drives them crazy, that camp does. It drives me crazy, but I barely passed the mental evaluation.

I see so much action, that my nickname has become "Dead Boy."

The living are sent out to die again. Which is where I started with my rambling. They die, and I look at them. Just by looking at their face I know how they died. Certain pain gives you a certain facial expression, you see. I've been at this a short time, but it feels like I'm already a battle-hardened doctor.

Death jumps to extremities, and I do too. Death makes me take that leap. Yes, like I said, no fault of mine.

I am scrawny, and barely five-foot-two. I have been mistaken for a young man many times by commanding officers. As much as the NCR likes to tell you, "there is no gender in the NCR!" They are lying like all political forces. The commanding officers treat women differently than men. But, I look so much like a little boy, everyone treats me like one.

I don't measure up to all women here or there. All the women who join with the NCR are fierce, brave, and stand tall. The NCR appeals to a certain kind of woman for whatever reason. Maybe I am the only exception.

I inherited the coal black hair from my mother, and black eyes. The skin beneath my eyes are tired, and navy blue. A physical trait my father also owned. They both were generally tall people. You see, I was the runt of their litter. Both my sister and brother were strong people.

The prized poodle of their litter was my brother. He could do no wrong, it seemed. He was both heroic and heavenly. My sister was independent and could keep up with my brother. I was left behind with my mother when they went out for food. I was the weakest, and the youngest.

"You were always so little as a baby," mother said. "But, don't worry, honey. We all have to grow up sometime."

Here I am. I am an independent soldier in the army. I am a good soldier. Strong, brave, and standing tall with the rest. They think that anyways. That's what is said on the few letters I send back home.

I will bring us down to ground level. It's no fun to keep on rambling about myself.

Tonight is quiet in Forlorn Hope. Tonight the moon is shining brighter than I have ever cared to see it. Full and blue with all it's might up in the sky. I sit on a rock overlooking the battlefield below. One of the veteran rangers said not to sit atop this ridge. She said I was a sitting duck out there atop this big rock.

I play with the trigger on my gun like a four-year-old who has no idea that a speeding bullet could come flying out of the barrel at any second. I soon lose interest, and escape from my seat atop the rock. Stumbling off of it, and dragging my feet across the dirt to the main camp itself.

Inside the Infirmary I find Richards floating around the tent like a humming bird. He is tending to the Dead Men. Some are sleeping, and some are barely awake. One of them gasps for air when I pass him. The Dead Man holds out his hand to me so I stop, and walk over to him.

Apparently he was on the receiving end of a Legion's machete. His wounds are deep, but Richards has already done all he can for the Dead Man. He wants me to stay with him. I sit on the opposite bed, and watch him watch me. I figure he is expecting me to say some civil words.

"Are you religious?" I whisper. He looks up to the ceiling, and then back to me. Ever so slowly he nods his head. "Good, right." I say.

Sliding off the bed beside him, I cup my hands together, and close my eyes. I begin a prayer that I have said many times before. "May Christ the Son of the living God, set you in the ever green loveliness of His paradise, and may He, the Shepherd, recognize you as one of His own. May you see your Redeemer face to face and standing in His presence forever, may you see with joyful eyes Truth revealed in all it's fullness." I paused for a second. "Amen."

I looked up at him. Blood was dried around his mouth, and he could barely talk. "Thank you," he croaked.

I then went searching for Richards. That man, not The Legion, was my real enemy. He did not like me, that I was sure of. The rest of the night I spent stitching skin together, and stabbing needles into dark blue veins.

Morning had come without warning, and the small town that Forlorn had become was alive. Patrols were constantly coming and going. New soldiers, old soldiers, all of them looked ready to tear someone's scalp clean from the bone. The NCR must be really stepping up the propaganda. The tension with The Legion was the cause of all the clever posters, and sayings.

The fresh air hit my nostrils. But, the smell of death and blood lingered on me. My clothes were perpetually dirty. You see, I am always awake so there is always something for me to do. If I'm not doing something the commanding officers find something for me to do.

I pulled my half-empty pack of cigarettes from a stray pocket, and lit up. Enjoying a cigarette was the last thing on Earth I could actually derive pleasure from. But, even that sent me closer to death.

After a minute or two of enjoying the little white stick, the Major called for me. I tossed the cigarette, and halfheartedly ran to the main tent.

Inside I found him talking to a stranger. She had a shaved head, and wore matte-black armor that looked like it saw many battles. She was intimidating, and like every good soldier, stood taller than me.

The Major gave me orders to take her to Richards, and I did. This woman, the courier as Major had said, was here to help us. Word is she came back from death itself after being shot in the head. She didn't speak a word to me, and only bore a hole in the back of my head as she followed.

"This is.." I began to introduce her, but didn't know her name. She took the hint, and held out her hand to Richards.

"Lucia."

Lucia. What a name. It flowed like the cool streams of a high mountain. I marveled at her. She lacked fear, and anxiety. Something I was riddled with, and it kept me awake during the night. No sleep for the anxious, I thought.

"I see Dead Boy got you here just fine," Richards remarked. "She helps me when she's not out on patrol."

"I see," she commented. "Someone said you're missing medical supplies."

"Oh, yes, that," Richards put a hand in the air to wave it off. "I would ask Dead Boy about that."

I froze. Of course I knew who was stealing the supplies. It was Private Stone and I. I could put a front for Richards, but this woman, who had dared defy death, was a different entity.

"I'm sorry, Lucia," I said trying to be as nonchalant as possible. "I need to return to Major."

Lucia squinted her gray eyes down at me, and told me she would ask me about it later.

As soon as I was out of the tent I ran to Private Stone to tell him of the courier. I found him in the barracks. He looked like he had been crying. You see, Stone was always going on and on about The Legion violently murdering us. It was enough to send someone into an impenetrable depression. Which, of course, he was in one of those. Nothing could bring him out of it.

"Oh God, oh God," he cried. "They're going to hang me and you."

I shook my head, "Oh, no, not me. You!"

"What?"

"Oh, yeah." I said. "You're taking the fall for this. It was you who got me into that!"

"What are you talking about, boy? When I met you, you were on all sorts of chems!"

He spoke the truth, but I was not going to openly admit it. No, sir. Not me. Sober as a.. well, not a lot of people or things are sober in the Mojave. But, goddammit, I was sober!

This is something that Private Stone would have to fix himself. Major had plans for me to accompany a small squad of soldiers today, and I was not going to fuck that up. The repercussions of this would be severe, and you know me, jumping to extremities and all that. Extreme actions for extreme situations, that was the NCR. That was me.

"Listen, Stone," I said calmly. "I have to go, but please for the love of God, handle this. I know you can."

Private Stone looked like he was going to vomit. I backed up a few steps towards the door. "Fine, fine," he whined. "But, you come back. Don't you fucking leave, Dead Boy."

"I promise. You'll hear from this cat again, right?"

I was jumpy throughout the day. Up until Quartermaster Mayes had called six of us into the main tent. He briefed us about what we were just about to do.

Me and six others were to retrieve supplies from HELIOS One. A simple enough task. Yes, yes, it is. I know that, but the man didn't know what he was talking about at the time. This was a dangerous mission, but we were dangerous people with dangerous weapons. Nothing could go wrong.

I don't remember what time it was when we left. All I know is that our squad leader was probably half-idiot and half-dumbass. I kept my mouth shut when we got lost.

The rifle I carried was beautiful. I always loved the feel of them, and the kick they gave when fired. Made me feel like a rabid, feral dog ready to tear through the enemy. That was probably the adrenaline. Psycho made one feel that way too. Psycho, the chem, was like a fucking shot of adrenaline and then some.

I was naturally an extremely violent person, and Psycho enhanced that ten fold. It was the perfect war chem, and many of the other soldiers used it often.

"You sure we ain't lost, boss?" I finally chimed in.

"You talk one more fucking time, Dead Boy, and I will rip your fucking tongue out," was his melancholy response. It was subdued rage in a very saddened voice.

Bad soldiers get discouraged, and will show you their inferiority through their voice. It was true. My squad leader was inferior.

But, I bet he wouldn't have said that if I looked like Lucia or one of the women back at base.

Now those women would have been given the golden ticket. If I was one of them he would have asked me to help him find his way out of these God forsaken valleys.

"Listen, kid," one soldier said beside me. "You should smile more. Just think of all the exercise we're getting walking up and down these hills. More than we'll get just sitting around on our fat asses waiting for The Legion to attack us."

Soon enough, when night had fallen, we saw the lights of HELIOS One. I had passed by it so many times, and I doubted that we could actually go inside it this time.

Me and one other of the soldiers waited outside the lobby while the rest went inside to bring out the supply shipment.

He was about in his early thirties, and I knew him fairly well. His name escaped me at the moment, but I knew him well. I often stared at him when he was asleep in his bunk. Which isn't so weird when you're a depraved girl in a barracks full of women and few attractive men.

"Gotta smoke?" I worked up the courage to ask him. "Yeah?"

He nodded, and handed me a new pack of cigarettes. Not even opened. It was like Christmas all over again. I grabbed it with excitement. "Keep it," he added.

I pulled out a fresh cigarette, and lit it up. Oh, the hot breath of smokey air it breathed into my lungs. Was it so long since I've had one?

"You don't look old enough to be in the army," he said out of the blue.

I wasn't. I was sixteen, but no one had to know that. I used the NCR's desperate bid for cannon fodder to my advantage, which got me out of the house, and out into the field. It was good for me and them.

"I get that a lot."

"Yeah, well, I lied to get into the NCR too."

"Don't know what you're talking about." I said.

"Don't lie to me. All of us did it, but I don't know how you did it. You're just a baby."

"I'll feel like one if you keep talking like that."

I saw he had a firm grasp of his rifle. He acted like some Legionary was going to pop out of the closet. On edge, and out of luck. Maybe he needed a little pick me up. That's what he was getting at, whether he knew it or not. It was on his subconscious. That's why he gave me the pack of cigarettes.

"Here," I said pulling out some Psycho from my bag. "Just don't come crying to me when your heart explodes."

He patted me on the shoulder, and whispered in my ear as he took it from my hand. "Stay here."

"Yeah, yeah." I groaned.

A few minutes later, right before we had left with the supply, he appeared beside me. From out of thin air as it seemed. "Jesus Christ, what took you so fucking long?" I barely whispered, but he didn't answer. So, I pushed his shoulder so he would listen. "You trying to get me fuckin' hanged by the Major, yeah?"

"Keep your voice down, Dead. I'm here now."

We walked in silence for about a mile before all hell broke loose. I don't know who dropped first, but we scattered like jacks thrown across the pavement. Stray bullets hit the ground in a plume of sand. Bullets whizzed inches by my head. The man who I had given the Psycho to sat beside me, and popped up from behind an outcropping of rock to fire a few rounds.

The white hot bullets fell against the sleeve of my tan uniform, and I shook them off of me. I did what I had been trained to do until someone yelled for me. I killed, and screamed profanities until my lungs gave out.

The man beside me fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. I knelt down beside him, and ripped open the front of his jacket. The bullet looked like it hit just between his ribs. The armor from the uniform slowed it down enough to stop it just at the entrance wound. I yanked open my bag, and put on some rubber gloves.

Then I dug hard into the round hole in his chest. The man screamed out of rage, and out of pain. I pulled the metal out of him, and poured sanitizing liquid into the wound. Then I pulled out some Buffout, and got behind him. I maneuvered his body so that his head was resting against my chest.

"Here, eat this," I ordered as I poured the crushed up Buffout into his mouth. Then I gave him a swig of water from my canteen. "All better, get up, get up right now."

The squad leader ran by, and yanked me up by the collar. He shoved a rifle into my hands. "Stop fucking around, girl!"

I didn't bother to look back at the man I was tending to. The squad leader wanted me to do something else. He yelled at me to do something else.

I followed the squad leader through a hail of bullets, and hopped over dead Legion boys. He slammed against the carcass of a long lost automobile. The Legionaries kept coming, and we kept shooting. Soon, though, I knew we would run out of ammunition. The squad leader, a rather older man with lines running along his forehead, didn't say anything but, "Keep fucking shooting!"

Then the crazy notion hit me. I could just run off, and leave our squad leader to the dogs. Yes, just run because my life _did _depend on it. So, there I was, with the perfect getaway plan in my head.

What of my duty to the NCR? To hell with that bullshit. Every man to himself. Free for all. Most of my team were part of the dead by now. And, my squad leader, who was determined to die with his eyes open, didn't necessarily tell me not to desert.

So, what of it? That was my plan, and I followed through with my plans. As soon as I felt the time was right, I ran. I ran like a bat out of hell. Jumping over dead bodies, and fallen comrades. I ran towards Novac where I could be safe inside one of the hotel rooms.

No money, no friends, and no ammunition. Only the tan on my back, and the breath in my lungs.


	2. Because

**Because**

_The desert is a symbol of the characters removing themselves from society, and functions as a metaphorical backdrop for their dialogue._

At the edge of Novac, I broke down and cried. I sobbed like Private Stone would when they found he was stealing medical supplies. I fell to my knees, and held my stomach with both hands like my guts were going to fall out. Hot tears fell down my cheeks like sweat. Dirt, blood, and gun grease covered me in a thin veil. My salty tears created streaks of clean skin down my face.

I sucked in breath after breath until I was shaking all over. Keep walking, I thought. Just keep walking. My legs felt like jelly when I tried to walk to the hotel check-in.

I must have looked a sight because the woman behind the counter opened her eyes in surprise.

"What happened to you?" she crooned.

"I need," I sobbed, "I need a room. Please; no money. Nothing.." The woman looked to the floor. "Please! For the love of God." I could see the doubt in her eyes. Maybe it was because I was NCR that she hesitated, but she gave me the room for the night anyway.

She helped me inside, and told me I could only stay the night.

I sat down on the bed, and with the little strength I had, I unbuttoned my jacket. As I stood up it slid off of my slender shoulders, and onto the bed.

Stumbling to the bathroom mirror I looked at myself in the cracked glass.

I wanted to die.

Will they even come looking for me? Probably not. But, they sure as hell will come looking for the supply shipment. I had a feeling they would send that courier after it.

When I awoke I was laying on the bed sideways. I didn't know what time it was, but I gathered my things. Last night I had made plans to go back to the scene of the crime, and see if anyone was still alive. Maybe it was curiosity. Trust me. I knew it was stupid to go back, but bless my little heart.. I didn't know any better.

I still had my medical bag with me so if anyone was alive I could help them if they weren't too bad. Under the cover of night I slithered through the war zone looking for any signs of life.

"Kid.. come here."

I heard the low whisper, and soon found it was that man I had given the Psycho to. He wasn't in too bad of shape. Mostly a few kicks, and bruises here or there. Let's not forget the hole in his chest. But, even that, wasn't fatal.

"Holy shit," I muttered as I sauntered over to him, "you're not dead."

His facial expression was listless, and his eyes followed my every movement.

"Come here," he said again.

"No fucking way," I shook my head, "you're going to wring my neck dry!"

"Stop being so goddamn loud, and help me up."

I hesitated for a moment. This is as far as my plan went. "Do you have any money?" I asked, "I only had the room in Novac for a night."

"Yeah, kid, sure. Help me stand up."

"Alright."

I knelt beside him, and put my left arm around his back to help him sit up. He let out curses, and sucked in a breath. This man probably weighed at least one hundred pounds more than me, and all of it was intimidating muscle. If he wanted he could have strangled the life out of me for deserting.

"Can you stand?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Then let's get the fuck out of here."

"Hold on, kid," he instructed, "grab Captain's rifle."

"Why?"

"You threw your rifle down when you ran off like a scared little girl."

I rolled my eyes, and ran to get Captain's Service Rifle. It was better than mine. More well-kept, and shiny. It spoke of power, and the finest craftsmanship that the Mojave could provide.

Captain, although he tried, had died with his eye's closed. His mouth was open, and his body chopped to pieces by the Legion. I searched him for magazines, and stored what little I could find in my medical bag. I put the strap over my shoulder, and made it back to the injured man.

"Let's get you up," I said as I pulled him onto his feet, "there you go."

Back at the hotel room I made him lay down on the bed. "Listen," I told him. "I need that money for another night. What do you have?"

He strained to talk, "about three-hundred."

"Holy Jesus, how?"

"Gambling."

"Right. Give it to me."

He gave me the caps without a fight. "Just hurry back, kid."

After paying for the hotel room I tried to look as inconspicuous as possible when I spotted a red beret. He was walking to the big stupid dinosaur. I knew he was 1st Recon, but what someone like that was doing here didn't come to me. The decision to flee rolled around in my mind, but I had the injured man to take care of. And, I had already left him once.

The hotel room was in deplorable condition. There was no part of it that wasn't covered in dust or wasn't broken down in some way.

I found the man to be too quiet when I entered the room. His head was turned away from me, and I couldn't tell if he was breathing. If he was dead, I thought, that would be one less thing to worry about.

"Are you alive?" I asked with no direct answer, "wake up." I stood over him, and watched him for a second. I felt like I was back at base being a creep again. Just staring at someone while they were asleep. "Wake up." He finally came to when I pushed him a little. "I need to see your wound."

I took his jacket off completely. No sense in that getting in the way. He wasn't too bad off. I think the only reason he was sleeping was because he was just generally exhausted.

"You never told me your name," I hinted when I was cleaning around the injury.

"It's Davis," he answered, "I thought you would have known that by now. "

I stopped my hand for a second, and I became aware of my heartbeat. "What?"

"You've stared at me long enough."

I chuckled, "sorry."

All that was needed was the stitching. I gave him some med-x so he couldn't feel anything, and would soon fall asleep so he couldn't bother me anymore. As much as I liked hearing him, I needed a little time to myself.

I plopped myself on the couch, and rested my head back, staring up at the ceiling.

"We're fucked," I said dryly.

"Yeah," was his defeated comment. His voice was harsh, and quiet.

"We are _so_ fucked. It's not even funny."

"Yeah."

"If it wasn't for me we wouldn't be so fucked."

"Yeah. We'd be dead."

I'm not getting strung up by my toes, and have all the blood drained out of me by the Major. No, sir. I would rather be dead than have this constant threat of the NCR looming over me like a tall shadow at sunset. Fuck, I mentally screamed.

"We're just.. fucked," I stated once more for emphasis.

"Yeah."

I went quiet for a moment, and thought about just exactly how fucked we were. I could make it to Vegas, but I had no idea what Davis was going to do. He was a man, I thought. He can take care of himself. I wasn't going to leave him just yet, though. He needed to be watched for medical reasons.

A thunderous bang on the door jerked me out of my slumber. I had fallen asleep next to Davis with his bloody jacket used as a blanket. Davis was still in a drunken stupor from all the chems I gave him to sleep. Whoops, I thought.

I crawled over Davis to get to the front door. The steady loud knocking was then accompanied by a female voice telling us to open up.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit. _

I got on all fours, and tried to see under the door. It was big, black heavy combat boots. Boots that meant business. Boots that would be so far up my ass that I don't know what.

I scrambled over to Davis, and tried yanking him out of the bed. He was awake, but wasn't fully aware of what was happening.

"Get up," I whispered as loud as I could, "get the fuck up. Get the fuck up."

Finally I had gathered enough strength to help him to the bathroom, where I left him on the floor to sleep.

"Who is it?"

"Open up, Dead Boy."

"Who is it?"

"The courier. I'm not going to hurt you. Let me in, kid. Before all of Novac comes to see what all the commotion is."

I opened the door ever so slowly, but she kicked it in as soon as she saw a sliver of dark from inside. The courier slammed it with the power of a thousand well trained Berets. With one hand she grabbed me by the collar, and pulled me to the bed.

"Why'd you run?"

"What?"

'"Fucking tell me, kid. It'll be easier that way."

"I didn't want to die. Why else would I run?"

"You've defected."

"Yeah, I know."

"Where's the other one?"

"I don't know. Probably dragged off by some Legion fucks."

Lucia used the butt of her gun to smack me in the face. I fell to the floor clutching my eye. She then went to the bathroom where she found Davis sleeping like a baby.

"You know," she said, "telling me the truth is a lot easier than lying to me."

"What now, Lucia?" I struggled to sit on the bed again, "you going to kill us? Send us back to Hope for the Major?"

Lucia let out an audible sigh, and the tone in the room softened. "No," she finally admitted, "but, I want you to keep your damn mouth shut if you get caught. Boone is here, and I don't know how he feels about your kind."

"My kind? We're not lepers."

"You're not exactly at the top of NCR society either."

I looked at my hand to see blood, and could feel the soft liquid flow down my face. "You didn't have to hit me."

"You deserved it, Boy. You're a brat, and you have no care for human life. If they're not attractive or have something you want you let them rot. Why did you even join the military?"

"I wanted to.. I needed.."

"That's what I thought."

"What if I followed you? You're always doing something. You're _the _courier. The one who escaped death."

"I'm also knee deep in NCR bullshit."

"Yeah, but we can work around that. Don't you need a discriminating medic around? You can't tell me that you actually like the NCR."

Lucia's snarl softened. Her eyes went from piercing to the deepest blue of the ocean. "One of the reasons I found you was because I needed to come here, and talk to Boone."

"That Beret?"

Lucia nodded, "yeah."

"Why?"

The courier disregarded my question, "I'll be back. Just stay here. Don't go anywhere, Dead Boy."

"Where are you going?"

"You ask too many questions," she said as she left the hotel room.

I yawned, and crawled back onto the bed. A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over me. I was so tired of all this bullshit. The courier would get me places, you see. I'm a follower, and in no way a leader. Lucia could be my leader, and I could get away mentally from the NCR.

There was something slightly off about her, though.

This time, I awoke calm. No one was knocking on my door. I didn't have anyone to help. Davis had made his way to the bed, and was sleeping too close to me. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck, and his hand touching my hip. He missed his wife or girlfriend back home, I assumed.

Too bad I didn't have anyone to miss.. Anyone I actually liked at least.

It was dark outside, and the courier was somewhere out there. Lucia was a buzzing bee of nerves. If her words were true she would be back any day now.

I don't like waiting only to find all that time wasted was in vain. That scared me, and made my brain raw. I found a little pick-me-up in my medical bag. The last of the chems. Lucia would have to hurry back if she wanted me to stay trapped inside this room for much longer.

Soon enough Davis woke up. He was actually awake this time, and sat up against the headboard of the bed. He would be sore for the next few days from all his body has been through, but if I could take the beating he sure as hell could.

My clothes were soaked in the harsh climate of the Mojave. My body was covered in bruises, and cuts. My eyes hurt, but I didn't dare try to look in a mirror. The tan of my uniform was unrecognizable, and was too dirty to distinguish my faction. The clothes were a comfort blanket, and I was going to keep them.

"Are you okay?" I asked Davis.

"Yeah, kid."

I walked over to him, and checked his stitches. All still perfectly exact. I admired my handy work. I was really good at being a Doctor when I wanted. Better than Richards, I thought.

"Do you know where you're going, Davis?"

"Home. What about you?"

"I'm staying in the Mojave. I still have some things to do."

"Yeah?" he questioned. "What are those things?"

"I don't know," I let out a low snicker. "Not too much. I never really know what I'm doing anymore. Too much blood and guts clouding my brain for me to think anymore."

"I wouldn't know the feeling. I didn't get much action." he admitted.

"Good. I wouldn't want your pretty face to get fucked up."

"Do you have anymore?"

I crawled back to my medical bag, and threw it across the floor to show just how empty it was. Only the jingle of magazines holding precious ammunition could be heard.

"We're fucked," I laughed. "No chems."

Davis shrugged, "I can get more."

"You're forgetting one thing," I reminded. "I have your caps."

"Keep them, kid. You're going to need them more than me, right?"

I was on the floor, sprawled against the couch with my head resting on the cushion. I didn't have no qualms about taking his caps, but I had developed a relationship with Davis. It wasn't the conventional kind. No, sir.

I could hear the vibrations of the couch, and I could feel them hit against the walls and come back to me. My brain was melting like sun-tanned ice cream. I couldn't feel my toes or fingers. All motor abilities were completely lost.

"Are you listening?" I could hear him ask, but I was too preoccupied with this piece of furniture. Always listen, I thought. His voice was closer, and closer until I felt him pick me up by the arm. Davis helped me to the bed, and I laid down on my back looking up at the ceiling.

"Thanks for everything," he said as he kissed my forehead. "Don't hurt yourself."

I heard him leave, but my mind was so slow. I couldn't comprehend the meanings of things. But, I said goodbye, I think. Or something to that effect. I will miss Davis. He was good, and funny. I missed him as soon as he left me. He was the closest I had to a friend at the moment.


End file.
